Hers was the instinct of the hunted creature for darkness and obscurity.

Her fevered spirit hurried her along, spurring her with the menace of an imprisonment which was worse than the cramped horror of the grave.

In the grave there was no consciousness of the weight of the earth above, but in prison, held like an animal, watched by horrible men, beating despairing hands against locked doors--ah, no, no! Her free young body and soul revolted with nausea at the thought.

Death would be better than that.

She walked still more rapidly.
With that possibility impending she shrank from any chance contact with passers-by, turning into side streets to avoid any one she saw coming.
Once, a policeman, appearing unexpectedly out of the shadows, set her heart beating wildly, but he passed by without looking at her.
It grew later, and the streets became quite deserted.